


puzzle with a piece missing

by dizzywhiz



Category: Glee
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Married Couple, Silly Schmoopy Fluff, domestic klaine, husbands!klaine, lots of fluff, what more could u want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzywhiz/pseuds/dizzywhiz
Summary: A couple of years after getting married, Kurt realizes there's something he needs to do: make Teenage Dream theirs again.And so he comes up with a plan, and he makes it happen.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 18
Kudos: 121





	puzzle with a piece missing

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been a little haunted by how s4 tainted the song that brought klaine together, but I had this idea in the car yesterday, and then I was asked very kindly to write it, and, well, you know.
> 
> and here it is, the teenage dream reclaiming fic <3

It takes him until the chorus to even register what it is.

Kurt’s by the bar, two rounds of cocktails deep and awaiting their third, feeling pleasantly buzzed and warm, if not a little flushed. He’s not the lightweight he used to be, but he doesn’t quite need the alcohol to unwind and let loose as much as his inhibitions once forced him to, either. 

He drinks because he’s grown to like the taste, and he likes how the booze makes him feel and how it makes Blaine a little extra tactile, a little extra bright and smiley.

He likes it when Blaine gets that way, when Blaine’s so happy that he can’t contain it - and they’re happy here, at this campy bar just a few blocks from their loft, with the reliably-nostalgic music and the strong, fruity cocktails, with the enthusiastic people and the dancing and the _fun._

And so, naturally, they come here a lot, and they’re comfortable.

The bartender is sliding their drinks across the counter when the song thrumming through the speakers finally seeps into Kurt’s bones, the dots finally connecting in his mind, beat pulsing through his bloodstream with a familiarity so close to his heart, rough around the edges but sweet all the same.

_Let’s go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love-_

It’s all teenage boys in blazers, sidestepping and bouncing and singing their hearts out. It’s all _one_ teenage boy, right at the center, bright and smiling and unlike anything Kurt had ever seen before. It’s all the way that boy _looked_ at him unlike any way Kurt had ever been _looked_ at before, no pity or fear or disdain or disgust, only that brightness, only that smile, as if Kurt were perfectly normal, perfectly acceptable.

It’s the way he felt that day, like _he_ smiled, too, in a way where he couldn’t even hold it back, couldn’t even stop himself. It’s the way he had known he was bouncing along, had known his cheeks were flushed and eyes wide but just hadn’t _cared -_ for the first time in his life.

But of course, it’s the way he felt the second time too, right before it all went wrong, right before he was blindsided and his heart was ripped out of him by the one person who he trusted never to do it.

That feeling, though, that pain - it exists inside Kurt’s chest, even years later, but it’s dull, faded, long ago overtaken by the memory of the first day and all of _those_ feelings, the day that changed him forever, that unknowingly set him up on the path he intends to walk for the rest of his days.

The day he met Blaine, his husband, the love of his life.

And so Kurt smiles, and he hums along under his breath as he carries their glasses back to the high-top table where Blaine is perched, weaving expertly through the groups of people waiting for their own drinks, chatting, even dancing on the outskirts of the dance floor.

When he catches sight of Blaine, though, his smile falters, and it fades, and the feeling of lightness is replaced by confusion because Blaine looks suddenly so _distant,_ as if he’s looking out into a far away universe that no one else can see, as if he’s somewhere else entirely.

He looks entirely out of place - in the bar they love, in the bar where they have come to feel so _comfortable,_ where the bartenders know their drinks of choice and where they’ve made friends with the other regulars, where they’ve created a niche for themselves.

He looks dull when he’s supposed to be bright. 

It rocks Kurt to his core, and he _knows -_ just knows - something is wrong.

“Blaine?” he asks once he’s close enough to duck forward and speak into Blaine’s ear, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

Blaine jolts, and his head snaps over, eyes still distant until they meet Kurt’s - and then they soften, and his body visibly deflates, and he sighs, shaking his head as if to brush it off.

“Nothing, nothing,” he insists, putting on a smile that Kurt doesn’t believe for a second.

He learned all of Blaine years ago, learned how to read him even when he’s masked, even when he’s putting on his best showman’s persona.

And something is wrong.

Kurt sighs, and he shifts onto the stool beside his husband, reaching to put a hand on Blaine’s thigh, hoping to ground him with his touch in the way Blaine always seems to search for, in the way that always seems to help, even a little.

“We can go home?” he offers, giving his leg a gentle squeeze in punctuation, watching him carefully.

Blaine’s gone back to looking ahead, seemingly watching the group of sweaty, dancing bodies but not really _seeing_ them at all, far away again in an instant.

He just shakes his head, and he reaches for his beer, and he takes a drag of it, long and steady.

Kurt watches the movement in Blaine’s throat as he swallows, the alcohol in his own veins making everything else go fuzzy around the edges, making Blaine the center of it all, alluring and magnetic.

And suddenly _Kurt_ wants to go home, and he thinks that might be what Blaine needs, too - to snap him out of whatever just happened, to bring him back to Kurt, to be okay.

To touch, to feel, to connect.

Kurt allows his palm to lift off of his husband’s thigh, letting his fingertips linger with the ghost of a touch as he trails them up, up - and in, too, towards the inseam of his pants, knowing that his hand is well hidden by the tabletop, that they’re faded into the background, everyone else focused on themselves.

But _Kurt_ is focused on watching a breath hitch in Blaine’s chest, a breath that feels like a victory, along with the way Blaine’s legs fall open just slightly, just enough for Kurt’s fingers to creep further inward and upward, not quite _there_ but almost, close enough for the intent to be unmistakable. 

When Blaine’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, leaving them slightly wet and slightly glistening in the low light of the bar, Kurt takes his chance to lean in, breathing a soft, warm exhale into Blaine’s ear. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?”

He pulls back just enough to watch Blaine shiver, and then finally, _finally,_ Blaine turns towards him again - and his eyes are dark, interested, but there’s still something _missing,_ or maybe it’s that there’s something _else_ there that isn’t _him._

It worries Kurt again, just for a moment, but then Blaine nods, just a shaky movement of his head, and his eyes dart down to Kurt’s mouth and back up again, down and back up, and Kurt brushes it all away in favor of taking his husband home. 

Maybe Blaine’s just tired, or maybe their busy schedules have gotten too out of sync and maybe he misses Kurt, or maybe it’s something else, but- 

This will fix it. 

Taking Blaine home, kissing him, touching him, loving him. 

This will work. 

* * *

Except Kurt gets Blaine home, and he kisses him, and he lays him on the bed and straddles his waist and threads his fingers through his curls and tugs the way he likes, but Blaine-

He’s still off. 

He’s quiet, and he’s not completely relaxed, and he’s not as enthusiastic as he usually is, either, making less of an effort to kiss Kurt back and to move them forward and to get closer, more, _more._

Blaine’s holding back. 

The realization of that hits Kurt all at once, just as his hand is pulling Blaine’s shirt out from where it’s tucked in in favor of rucking it up to get to his warm, bare skin, just as he’s kissing across Blaine’s jaw, reveling in the feeling of Blaine’s stubble scratching across his lips. 

His hand stills, and he pulls his mouth away, and he flops to the side, against the mattress, letting out a deep, shaken sigh. 

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks, sounding closer to a plea, a beg, than anything else. He’s too concerned, too confused to care how he sounds, fully focused on searching Blaine face for some sort of sign, on keeping his hand on Blaine’s stomach for some sort of connection. “Please, Blaine, just… Please talk to me.”

It’s something they’d struggled with for so long - talking to each other, being open, being honest. But they’ve _both_ worked on it, and they worked it _out_ a long time ago. 

At least - Kurt thought. 

But he’s doubting it now, based on the way Blaine’s shutting down in a way he usually doesn’t, based on the way he’s shutting Kurt _out,_ too, internalizing whatever must be wrong because there has to be _something,_ because Blaine being so _disinterested_ in bed-

It’s just not _Blaine._

But before Kurt can agonize over the mystery of it any longer, Blaine sighs, and he rubs his hands over his face, and he turns on his side to curl into Kurt, though he keeps his eyes down, keeps himself closed more than anything else. 

“It’s just… It’s stupid,” Blaine mumbles, tucking his arms up and curling his hands into fists that rest right against Kurt’s arm, a new point of contact that might not be intentional but that feels like something Kurt needs all the same, that might be something Blaine needs, too. 

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you feel this way,” Kurt counters gently, fidgeting with the now-exposed bottom hem of Blaine’s shirt before slipping his hand under it again and resting it against the slightest curve of his belly, just feeling him there. “You can tell me.”

Blaine goes quiet, and Kurt waits, allowing him the space to process and to think and to prepare, no sounds but their breathing, occasionally syncing up and then parting again, only to come back together, a natural drift and gravitation every time. 

Kurt waits, and they breathe, and then Blaine speaks. 

“It’s… When you were getting our drinks,” he begins to explain, voice soft, tentative. If he weren’t so close, Kurt would have to strain his ears to even make out the words - but he’s right there, and Kurt knows Blaine’s voice like no other sound, and so he gets it. 

“That… That _song_ came on. _Teenage Dream,_ and I- I just-“

“I heard it,” Kurt interjects quietly, feeling the panic rise from Blaine’s chest and hearing it in his voice, needing to stop it from going any further. 

Blaine hesitates, and he steals a glance up at Kurt, fleeting and questioning, before ducking his head back down again, shifting the slightest bit closer.

“I ruined that song for us,” Blaine says bluntly then, sounding raw and _broken_ and nearly breaking Kurt in the process.

It makes sense, then. The pieces begin to come together, of why Blaine was so shaken back in the bar, of why Blaine hasn’t been able to snap out of it even though they’re home together - because this issue isn’t something Blaine can get away from, isn’t something he can remove himself from.

Blaine’s issue is with _himself._

And to an extent, Kurt gets it - although it happened so long ago, and although Kurt forgave him for it so long ago, too, there was a time where Kurt felt like Blaine ruined it, too, a time when he couldn’t listen to the song or even think about when they met because it hurt too badly.

But there are thousands, millions, _infinite_ memories that they’ve shared together that are so much sweeter, so much _better,_ with more and more every day, and in Kurt’s mind, they dilute the bad ones to the point of nearly drowning them out completely.

When Blaine makes Kurt feel so loved and cherished and wanted and _valuable_ every single day, the period when he _didn’t_ just- 

It isn’t worth holding onto.

And Kurt has always just _assumed_ that Blaine feels the same way, that they got past it, that it was just another hurdle they climbed over together, just like all of the others.

Apparently, Kurt was wrong.

He draws in a breath, opens his mouth to speak, to soothe him, to reassure him, but before he can even figure out the words to say or how to make them come out, Blaine is speaking again - and so Kurt stops, and he listens.

“I- Obviously I regret what I did back then,” Blaine sighs, his voice and his huff of a breath dripping with the disdain and disgust he must feel for himself, even years removed. “Cheating on you… _God,_ sometimes I still can’t believe I did that. I don’t even know who that _was,_ Kurt, but- even after all that, pulling our first _song_ into it? Tainting that, too? I just… I hate that I did it. I hate myself for doing it.”

Blaine is trembling now, just enough to be noticeable under Kurt’s hand, but it’s enough to make the last of Kurt’s resolve crumble completely. He shifts, and he pulls his husband close, drawing his arms around Blaine’s frame and tucking him near, breathing him in, just _holding_ him in an attempt to provide more reassurance than he quite knows to put into words.

“I forgive you,” Kurt murmurs, suddenly unsure if he’s ever truly said it, at least in reference to _this,_ what pulled them apart the first time, what nearly wrecked them beyond repair. “I forgive you, honey. I did a long time ago. You deserve to forgive yourself, too.”

Blaine presses his face into the crook of Kurt’s neck, and he finally settles there, letting out a deep breath that clearly cleanses him, beginning to strip him of the last dredges of years-old guilt, causing him to practically melt against Kurt instead.

“Okay,” he whispers with a small nod, causing his curls to brush against Kurt’s cheek, tickling in the familiar little way that feels like home. “Okay. I-I’ll try to.” 

Kurt doesn’t want Blaine to _try -_ he wants him to just _forgive_ himself, to flip a switch and be done with it, to love himself the way Kurt loves him, but he knows it will take time, knows Blaine is harder on himself than on anyone else, and he always has been.

He has a feeling, too, as he holds Blaine close and rubs gentle patterns up and down his back, that the conversation isn’t over, that the issue isn’t resolved. 

And Kurt wants to help.

* * *

It takes him a few days to settle on what to do, on how to make Blaine feel better.

As the days go by, Blaine becomes a little looser, a little more himself, but Kurt can tell the song is still hanging there in the back of his mind, looming like a gray cloud over his head.

As the days go by, Kurt realizes more and more just how _much_ this affects Blaine, how much it’s plagued him.

And Kurt realizes, too, that this isn’t a new issue - it’s been twisting and turning and bubbling under the surface ever since it happened, the feelings and self-inflicted resentment spilling over in their worst fights, in Blaine’s worst mental states, erupting completely during their second breakup, calming after they married but never quite going away, at least not completely.

He feels guilty, in a lot of ways, for not having noticed it, for not having thought to bring it up in all of their conversations over the years. It feels obvious, now, that this is something Blaine would have held onto and held against himself. 

Kurt should have known.

He should have known, and he should have _fixed_ this, and he should have made _sure_ Blaine knew that he was long ago forgiven, that he is loved, that he is wanted - that _Kurt_ forgave, loves, wants him.

And he knows he has to do something.

Though he knows, too, that he won’t stay in it, Kurt starts out in his comfort zone - he steals away from the office a little early on Thursday, when he knows Blaine is studying at the library and won’t be home until right before dinnertime. He leaves early enough to go by the grocery store and still beat his husband home, early enough to even have dinner more or less ready right when Blaine walks in the door.

It’s Blaine’s favorite, exactly what Kurt makes every time he knows Blaine is a little extra stressed, a little down, a little off, or any combination of the three. 

Whatever is going on with Blaine, food always, always helps - it’s something it took Kurt a while to understand about him, but he gets it now, and it’s something he can handle.

So Kurt makes Blaine’s favorite scalloped potatoes, and he sears some chicken breast, and he tosses together a salad, too, even if he’s most likely the only one who will eat it.

He won’t bother Blaine about eating his greens tonight. 

He’s just uncorking the wine when he hears the front door open and hears Blaine shuffle inside, and he smiles, turning to get sight of him, to greet him.

Blaine usually gets home first, and coming home to him is Kurt’s favorite part of the day - so when _Kurt_ is the one home alone, once Blaine finally gets there…

It feels like his home is coming back to him.

“Smells good in here,” Blaine breathes, coming off a long inhale as he moves into the kitchen and rocks up on his toes to press a sweet _hello_ of a kiss to Kurt’s mouth, fleeting but firm.

Kurt reaches to grasp Blaine’s elbows in a quick motion and holds him there, unable to resist kissing him for real, for longer, slow and languid this time, feeling the spark of it travel through his bloodstream and into every part of him as Blaine sinks into it, too, making him feel alive, right, making him feel, once again, _home._

“It’s almost ready,” he promises once they part, feeling a little breathless. It’s funny, almost, how Blaine still gets him like this from something as simple as a kiss, a touch, a look, even after being married for over two years and being together for longer.

He hopes Blaine will _always_ get him like this - and Kurt has a feeling, deep in his chest, that he will.

He just needs to figure out how to make this better.

* * *

When the idea finally strikes him as they finish eating, Kurt isn’t sure where it’s coming from - it might be the wine settling in his belly and thrumming in his veins, or it might be Blaine’s smile from across the table, starting to reach his golden eyes and feel warm and relaxed and genuine for the first time all week.

He knows right away, though, that it’s perfect.

He waits until they’ve had their fill of dinner, and then he stands up, and he gathers the plates, shooting Blaine a firm, narrowed look when Blaine begins to get up, too.

“Stay, sit, but- scoot your chair out for me?” he asks, cracking a smile when Blaine furrows his eyebrows in confusion, in uncertainty. 

“Okay…?”

Blaine sounds and looks unsure as he settles back in his chair and pushes back from the table, and Kurt feels Blaine’s eyes on him as he bustles around, clearing their plates and then grabbing his phone, turning on their speaker, queueing up the song.

A mix of excitement-hope-nerves-promise is bubbling in his chest as he takes a deep breath and steps right in front of his husband, bowing down enough to kiss his cheek, a light reassurance.

“Just listen, okay?” he murmurs in Blaine’s ear, ghosting his lips across the shell of it before standing upright again, walking backwards towards the speaker on the countertop.

Kurt keeps a careful eye on Blaine as he does it, biting his lip to hide his smile, stopping once he’s in position, spreading his arms out as if he’s presenting something, presenting himself.

“Consider this a reclaiming,” he announces with his best showman voice, lifting his chin and finally letting his smile show, wide and confident.

And then he reaches back for his phone, thumbs across the screen, and he presses play.

Blaine’s eyes widen right away, instantly recognizing it because of _course_ he does, this song is deep in his bones and in his soul, regardless of whether he wants it to be or not. 

Everyone has always known that - Kurt most of all.

He looks hesitant, uncomfortable, almost _hurt,_ and Kurt nearly wants to call it off, is one blink away from shutting off the song and apologizing and pulling Blaine close instead, but he pushes the feeling away.

And he dances.

It’s a sway to the beat more than anything else, but it shifts into a shimmy that grows from his hips as it always does, and by the time Katy’s voice comes in-

He throws his head back, and he sings right along with her, loud and enthusiastic and over-the-top, unabashed in his volume and his commitment to his performance.

Kurt adds in the Warblers-esque side-stepping and boppy movements he remembers from back in the day, and he sings, and he smiles, and he puts all of the heart and soul he has into it and more, willing to put his integrity and his shame and his _everything_ on the line- if only to see Blaine smile.

By the time the pre-chorus starts, he’s shimmied his way up and right in front of Blaine, ducking in to just _barely_ kiss him but not quite - close enough, though, that he knows Blaine can _feel_ it when Kurt sings softly _let’s go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love._

And then he bounces away, light on his feet just in time to break into the chorus-

And just in time to see Blaine break into a smile, wide and toothy and _happy,_ eyes sparkling as they track Kurt’s movements - side to side, back and forth, a quick flick of a twirl punctuating _don’t ever look back._

It’s a smile that fuels Kurt, that energizes him and drives him to do _more,_ to sell the act and make it bigger, better, _perfect._

He pours himself into the dancing and into the singing, knowing full well how silly and foolish he looks and sounds, but he doesn’t feel that way - he feels _alive,_ every nerve and muscle and inch of his body pulsing with the beat and tingling with the melody, every piece of himself for the song, all of himself for Blaine.

By _my missing puzzle piece, I’m complete,_ Blaine’s practically vibrating in his chair, and Kurt can feel the energy coming off of him in strong waves, aching to get up and join in - and Kurt can’t resist, doesn’t hesitate for a moment before bounding over to Blaine and reaching out his hands, grabbing him and pulling him up.

A surprised, eager laugh spills out of Blaine then, and he looks flustered, still caught up in the unexpectedness of it all, but it doesn’t take him long before he rights himself, wrapping an arm around Kurt’s waist and threading their fingers together with his free hand and drawing him in for a light, out of place slow dance, much like the one they shared at prom, so many years ago.

In fact, _that_ very night, the night Blaine stood in front of a room full of terrifying strangers and faced his fears and asked Kurt for a dance, the night that they stood up for themselves and _won_ in the most powerful way - that was the night that Kurt fell in love with Blaine, the real, genuine sort of love where Blaine isn’t idolized, and he isn’t on a pedestal. 

It was the night Kurt settled into the love that they were building together, the night that he embraced it, the night that he _understood_ it, though he wouldn’t voice it, not yet.

And now, dancing with Blaine in _their_ kitchen in _their_ loft in _New York City,_ able to feel the metal of Blaine’s wedding ring pressed up where their fingers are intertwined, Kurt feels like he’s falling in love all over again.

The plan to dance for Blaine and make him laugh and make him _better_ all but fades into the background, and Blaine becomes the very fixture of everything Kurt knows, the center of the life they’ve built together, of the world they’re still building. 

Kurt revels in him, in the feeling of Blaine’s arm around him and Blaine’s hand in his own, of the heat radiating from Blaine’s over-warmed body, in the sound of Blaine’s voice effortlessly harmonizing with Katy’s and with Kurt’s own, and he loves every bit of it, craves it, never wants to be without it.

And suddenly, as Blaine gazes at him with all of the love in his eyes when they sing _now baby I believe, this is real,_ Kurt realizes that _he_ needed this, too - he needed to make this _theirs_ again, to get the final bit of closure, something to say that _this_ is their memory of this song, that it brought them together and it brought them _here._

That they _did_ it, that they’re _doing_ it - they’re achieving their dreams of being legally married, of living in the city, of pursuing careers in what they love, of creating more and more dreams every day, of being _happy_ together.

_Happy._

And Kurt is so in love that he feels like he could burst with it, and he’s amazed that he can still _feel_ this way, that there doesn’t seem to be a limit to it, that just when he thinks he loves Blaine, he proves himself wrong and doubles it, triples it, as if that love can be entirely infinite.

Maybe it is - Blaine _is_ his dream, one that became a reality, one that never stops _being_ a dream.

Kurt’s living it. _They’re_ living it.

By the time the song fades out, their dancing has lulled to a gentle sway, and they’re holding each other closely and tightly, chests heaving with the exertion of it all, faces red from the smiling and the wine and all of it.

“I love you so much,” Kurt says breathlessly, ducking in to kiss him and _staying_ there, staying close, unhurried and slow as their lips press and move together gently, a contrast to the heightened energy they had just shared and created together.

He pulls back just enough to look at Blaine again, unable to get enough of truly just _looking_ \- at his eyes and his lashes, the glisten of sweat on his skin, his slightly reddened, slightly dampened lips stretched into an everlasting smile, entirely perfect - and he watches as Blaine slowly comes down, settles back into himself.

Kurt’s afraid at first - afraid Blaine will retreat again, slip back into his shell, that he’ll pull a mask over his face and armor around his chest - but Blaine stays, and he’s _radiant,_ eyes still sparkling like he’s entirely in awe of Kurt, the sort of gaze that makes Kurt feel like he can tackle anything in the world, as long as Blaine keeps looking at him that way.

“What was that for?” Blaine wants to know, hands sliding down Kurt’s sides to rest low on his hips, thumbs rubbing gentle circles just above the waistband of his jeans. He’s softening further now, eyes turned to pure honey in the light of their little kitchen, but he’s no less happy, no less _Blaine._

He’s back, and he’s _here,_ and Kurt wants him - _needs_ him - to stay.

“This is our _song,_ Blaine,” Kurt says by way of explanation, still feeling flushed and giddy and light himself, nearly overwhelmed by the brightness of the man in his arms, back in all of his sunshine again. He meant to prepare a speech, to say everything he means and to say it right, but Blaine has him captured, and it all flies out the window, replaced by pure, unadulterated relief. “It- This is what brought us together, and it’s just- It’s ours. And I don’t _care_ about that- that other stuff. We’re _here._ We’re _married._ We made it.”

Blaine lets out a shaky, emotional breath, and he swallows thickly, and he nods, close enough that their foreheads bump with the movement. 

“We made it,” he echoes with a jolted crack in his voice, reaching up to cup Kurt’s face in his hands, thumbs smoothing over the apples of his cheeks. 

And Blaine’s eyes are suddenly shining with tears that are just on the cusp of falling, but there’s that warmth that remains there, too, like _he_ feels relieved, too.

Like he forgives himself.

Finally, years later, Blaine forgives himself.

And Kurt can’t help but pull him infinitely closer and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, feeling finally untethered from the past, now one step closer to achieving all of the dreams they share, one step closer to being complete.


End file.
